European Kinks
by JerichosPhantom
Summary: Chapter seven:Norway: Magic/Folklore- 'Norway was uncomfortable. Norway was tense. Norway decided firmly that he should not, under no circumstances whatsoever, find Denmark talking about mystical and supernatural beings this hot.' Chapter 7 rated T for sexual themes. Chapter 6:Netherlands
1. France

**A/N: ...Nope. No excuses. I'm starting another story thingy. Sorry.  
>Anyway, it's a oneshot thing with a kink theme~ Sexy, right? Haha...but seriously, some angst up ahead...okay, judging from my list (which will remain a surprise) it's all angst or fluff -.-<strong>

**Featuring Europe only (and Russia and Turkey since they're both Asia _and _Europe). I don't own Hetalia, because if I did, history would magically rewrite itself so France and Jeanne D'Arc could get married and have some nice French sexytimes.**

**Summary: A series of oneshots (short oneshots, but not drabble short) of European countries and their kinks/fetishes. Sometimes it'll describe their kink, or it'll be a story (probably angsty) involving it. Historical references will be involved.  
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><p><em><strong>France-ModestyConservative Clothes  
>FranceXJeanne D'Arc<br>**_

Sir (if you consider him gentleman enough to be called such a thing) Francis Bonnefoy is a man of many, many years, and a man of many different kinds of pleasures. Love is everywhere, in infinite forms, over an infinite amount of time. Love is what keeps him faithful that humanity hasn't completely sunk to the bottom of the pit of despair and deficit. France has many...what are the younger nations calling it now...? Ah yes. France has many, many 'kinks'.

France has dappled in every game, play, and kink imaginable. _Alors merveilleuse~!_

Woman after woman, man after man, the occasional boy and girl looming at the edge of adulthood have all been tasted by the French nation of _l__'amour__. _He has his preferences of course...yes...oh yes, Francis Bonnefoy does indeed have his little favorites...

Blonde. Soft, cropped short tips swaying gently in the French breeze.

Eyes blue as the sky (C_iel)__. _That perfect shade of blue...

Modest. Chaste. Pure. Heavenly. Covered.

Sweet and supple femininity clothed and covered and hidden away from prying male eyes, metallic, shining metal covering strips of cloth bound tight to pale slightly freckled skin.

Jeanne.

Beautiful Jeanne. Brave Jeanne. Sweet, kind, valiant, gorgeous, saintly, pure, innocent, JeanneJeanne_JeanneJeanne__**Jeanne**__. _

His heroine, his savior, his saint, his lost, charred, broken heart, _Jeanne._

Jeanne who he never had, whom he never _could_ have. A soul, a heart, a _body_ that he craves eternally, that his forever young hotblooded flesh will never stop longing for.

And so, he has his favorites. Young girls that have just jumped off from girlhood with soft short blonde hair, blue eyes, and clean, conservative, modest clothing that covers everything.

It's the closest he will ever get to true love.

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><p><strong>AN: Angsty right? Well, tell me what ya think (Review)! ...Please? Also, when it comes to these kinks, there will be irony. Not too much irony, but that bastard tends to come up alot in my writing.**

**_Alors merveilleuse_- _So wonderful_**

**_Ciel-Heaven (Ha ha, Black Butler)_**

**Review~  
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	2. Spain

**A/N: The word 'cute' has lost all meaning. Dark, angsty, and kinda creepy.**

**WARNING: If you don't like yaoi...well, then you really shouldn't be watching Hetalia, honestly. But yeah, yaoi, Pedo!Spain, Shota, and religious themes (kinda. author is agnostic). Rating is T+/M so BE WARNED!  
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**_Spain-Shota  
>SpainXChibi!Romano<br>_**

Spain _loved _cute things.

He remembered the days of power; the rising Empire that would never fall. He remembered being utterly surrounded by glory, gold, and God. Splattered with the blood of enemies and savages, swimming in their glorious gold. He took and took and left nothing. Nothing would remain for these natives, beasts with a human form. But...

Little México. A little girl with big dark eyes, dark hair, and dark skin. Staring up at him so fearfully, trembling, sobbing over her fallen mother at he towered over her, Mama Aztec's blood staining his clothes and axe. He smiled.

So _cute._

And that cute little child was his now.

All his.

Spain's. Property of _España_.Oh. How many other cute children could he acquire? A big happy family, full of cute little children, worshiping his divine God. The very thought sent thrills tingling in his body. He giggled happily and took tiny México by the arm and dragged her away from Miss Mama Aztec. She screamed at him. He frowned.

That wasn't cute. He wanted her to be cute again. He hit her. And hit her some more. And again and again. She was quiet now, sniffling in pain and terror. He smiled dopily and swung her up, cradling her to his chest with one arm. "_Que lindo"_ he cooed into her hair.

He hunted for more, and found his 'family'. Cute little Argentina, sweet young boy who stared up at him so seriously. Darling Philippines, who could never bear to look at him for some reason. Venezuela, Colombia, Bolivia, Paraguay, Uruguay...such New World cuties.

But they were flawed.

So, so flawed. They screamed and yelled and fussed and fought back. He saw his _amigos _with their little colonies. Francis with his cute little Canada, who clung to his pant leg and whispered for Papa Francis. Prussia, dragging his baby brother into battle, laughing together.

His colonies weren't like that. They cursed him, screamed at him, ran around behind his back to their savage customs and people and scorned his- scorned _God_ by practicing their former heathen. He cursed them and beat them back to God. Some of them conformed, some of them didn't learn and fought, some of them hid away among their people.

Spain gave up, but stared at his friends cute, little colonies and his body ached.

His Austrian husband, a husband that obviously lusted after his Hungarian maid, captured a new territory. Little Italy. Spain had not met young Italy, but had heard of him. Small, a little clumsy, with a angelic voice and a passion for pasta and art.

He sounded absolutely _adorable_.

Austria called him one day, and bequeathed him a new chunk of land.

Southern Italy, the slightly older brother of Austria's young Italy. Spain was delighted and raced home to his new henchman, body burning with strange fire at the image of a sweet boy in white that was seared into his mind.

What he found...was not what he was expecting.

Loud. Rude. Messy. Lazy.

A most undesirable henchman. Spain pouted as he cleaned the house for little Romano. So uncute.

So very, very uncute. Really.

So what if little Roma's pale skin and cherubic face was a mirror of one of God's beloved servants? Dark auburn hair that made his fiery eyes smolder, clothed in angelic white, head topped with a little white hat...

No, Spain told himself. Romano wasn't cute. The warmth he felt in his chest when he stared as his little colony's pouty face didn't mean anything, because he _wasn't cute._ The ache to scoop the little land into his arms and squeeze was just-just something that he needed to ensure that that land was still his. Not because he was cute.

He absolutely _didn't_ bite his bottom lip to suppress a moan when he caught darling little Roma in his room, gripping a rosary and praising the Lord. His breath _didn't_ quicken and his cheeks _didn't_ flush when his saw what a messy eater innocent Roma was, tomato juice dripping down his chin and coating his plump lips with red shine. He didn't silently growl and simmer with an unholy wrath when Francis, his best friend, smiled devilishly at Roma, who in turn blushed and stammered and cursed at the French nation.

_You are a superior nation_, Spain told himself. _You are pure. You are supreme. You are a Holy land._

Envy was wrong. Wrath was wrong. Lust was forbidden.

Roma wasn't cute. Uncute, uncute, _uncute-uncute-uncute-uncute-cutecute**cute**-_

Sheets twisted and the body they rested on thrashed and squirmed as sinful images of a dark haired young colony danced in his mind, that pale little body pressed so close to his, little mouth pressing innocent boy kisses to his bare chest, tiny hands pressing against his skin.

Spain arched and moaned, rough hands helping his needy body stain his bed with sin as he pictured his little boy.

Oh little Lovino, darling Lovino, _mí__ querido _Romano.

Why must you be so _cute?_

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><p><strong>AN: Yup. Not what I usually write, but here it is. Review?**


	3. Belarus

**A/N: Yeah. I'm back. This story of mine isn't all that popular, but I'm sticking it out (for now)! Yay! **

**This Chap's pretty short. Belarus's character isn't as developed as others in the manga, but she's still pretty interesting (and pretty~). **

_**Chapter 3: Belarus: Russia**_

_**Onesided BelarusXRussia**_

Belarus was a simple lady. Scary as all of the nine layers of Hell combined with a dash of Satan and Dracula's lovechild (if such a thing existed), but simple nevertheless.

Ever since she was a little girl, there only was herself, Big Sister Ukraine, and Big Brother.

Mother Russia had long since died, and only Ukraine knew the true identity of their father, but whenever asked when they were young, Big Sister merely began crying, so they stopped asking. The only one in Belarus' world was Russia.

He was the only one who loved her, despite everything. The only one who looked after her, cared for her.

All she needed was Russia.

He didn't need her. He didn't even _want_ her, but that didn't matter.

She needed Russia, and she would _have him._

"Big Brother? Where are you? Come here so we can live together forever and get _married-married-married-married-married-married-married-married-married..."_

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><p><strong>AN: Yeah. Like I said. It's short. Review?**_  
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	4. England

**A/N: England's chapter is long, yes it is. So yeah, there are definite pairings in here, if that wasn't already evident.  
><strong>

_**Chapter Four: England: Roleplay**_

_**USUK**_

Out of all of Europe, only four of those nations were interested in nations outside the Old World.

Those four would be Turkey, Greece, Prussia, and England.

Of course, Prussia wasn't a nation anymore really (though he seemed to be getting stronger lately for some reason*), and everyone forgot Canada most of the time anyway, so he was left alone most of the time.

Greece had that bromance going on with Japan, that was _way_ more romance than bro. But they were so old and philosophical and, well, _suited_ for each other that most people left them alone too. Plus, if anyone did bother them, Greece just slept through it and Japan had a secret stash of... _desirable information_ (blackmail) on every single European nation, and then some, so he was left alone usually as well.

Turkey had that weird "nonexclusive no strings attached" thing with Egypt (it was actually exclusive, but they weren't telling each other that). However, Egypt was formally part of his Empire so people understood where that came from since many European relationships stemmed from Empire-Territory relations, so people left _them_ alone too.

And then there was England.

Poor, poor England.

Yeah, they didn't leave _England_ alone. For several reasons. One, he was dating his former "Little brother". Two, said "Little brother" essentially told him to Fuck off, and kicked his ass when he was a teenager and England was the Great British (and basically _undefeatable_) Empire. Three, England is dating someone about 1501 years his junior (or so he thought)*. And lastly, he was dating _America._

_**America.**_

A child by their standards (or so they thought). Bright, loud, annoying, 'Heroic!' America.

Needless to say, Europe laughed at him for that. They couldn't really take America seriously, despite the (unknown) fact that America had the strength, intellect, and influence to conquer them all easily, if he tried or wanted to.

England too, forgot how dangerous America was most of the time. And for the first few months of their official Special Relationship, he simply didn't know.

And then America made love to England for the very first time.

It was...something England hadn't really experience before. It was gentle. Adoring and sweet. Loving. England was _happy_, for the first time in a relationship. Honest to God _happy._

But...

He got a little...bored. While the sex, in it's relaxing worshiping way, was fantastic, it was very vanilla.

So, England asked America to be a little rougher. He was embarrassed to admit it, but he remembered his pirate days, and how he indulged in his sexual activities back then. He was addicted to the rush, the slight pain and the delicious burn. The power he felt in his red coat and feathered hat, the formidable black boots.

America, naturally asked why, worried that he wasn't satisfactory as a lover (like most nations, he was a little new to committed relationships and actually trying to _please_ his partner after all), and England admitted that he missed the rush, the danger, the excitement he got from sex as a pirate. America...well...

He laughed. Not at the idea, which he hastily told England when he got that weird red blotchy 'I'm going to kill you you sodding git!' pout on his face, but the fact that it was simply strange to America because America _remembered_ England as a pirate.

"Haha, yeah. I remember your pirate days, Iggy! When I was a kid, my favorite game was to steal clothes from your room and dress up as pirate you!"

America.

As a pirate.

An _English _pirate. In _his clothes. _Dominating. Strong. Roughly fucking England against the wooden floor of the Captain's Quarters.

The thought nearly made him drool.

The look on America's face was mortifying, but England managed to dig up the courage from somewhere inside to shove his old Empire pirate uniform at the confused American and ask him to wear it. America blinked behind Texas. Blinked some more. Shrugged and left the room, to presumably change. England paced. Oh, this wouldn't work. America would think he was absolutely insane, and America was so much taller than him, it wouldn't even _fit-_

"Ya know darlin' " a slow, sultry, Southern drawl purred in his ear, and faster than England could blink, America, single handedly no less, tossed him over his broad shoulder and sauntered towards the bedroom, formidable black boots stomping the ground with strength.

"I had privateers too."

As England later basked in the afterglow of what had to be the roughest, dirtiest, and best sex of his life, he decided they had to do this more often. He lazily peered at his equally satisfied and sweaty lover through his lashes and let out an involuntary hum of contentment and arousal when he noticed his black tri cornered hat askew on his love's head. America grinned languidly at him, hearing his little noise of happiness. "Ya like that lil' lady?" He smirked wickedly, noting how England flushed at his accent. He mentally filed away the useful information that England apparently had a kink for roleplay and his Southern drawl.

"Ya know...I used to be an outlaw in the West. Probably still have that laying 'round somewhere if you wanna..."

...

Oh _God _**_yes._**

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><p><strong>AN:Fluffy chapter is fluffy.  
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***Recently, the Free State of Prussia (a micro-nation) was created. Yeah, it's a thing. Prussia's (sorta) back baby!**

***I have this theory that America's old. Really old. My theory's a bit different from other theories (that America is also Native America). I have an idea that America and Canada (cuz they're twins) were non physical (spirits) but sentient beings that hung around Native America until 1000 AD, when the Vikings came over. Then Native America and a certain Norwegian who accompanied his little brother on his New World trip, had some fun times and America and Canada were born as physical nation representatives as the Vinland. Then time passed and stuff happened. I think it would really awesome if America and Canada were actually at least 1000 years old, which they are, when all of Europe really sees them as naive kids that are only a few centuries old.**

**England is about 2000 years old (when the Romans actively came to trade/ trying toconquer the island and essentially gave birth to modern England). 'Britannia', the entire UK's mom, had her prime (and isolation) during the Bronze Age around 3000-4000 years ago (Celtics baby!). She died around 43 AD when the Romans finally conquered Britain successfully.  
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**Yeah. America had privateers. Apparently they kicked some ass in the War of 1812 and the Revolution.  
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	5. Greece

**A/N: Hello! I'm back. I've got writers block for both WIS and AUS (America and his United States), so I'm doing this. Yay!  
>Rating: T+ (It gets a little dirty, but only for fantasies. Nothing actually happens)<br>If you don't like homosexuality or crossdressing or the pairing, don't review to tell me this automatically sucked because it has those things in the chapter. You know who you are.  
>I don't own Hetalia, but I <em>did<em> write an essay on how awesome it was and how it affects our generation. Got 30/30 on that son of a bitch :D  
>The unofficial, yet universally acknowledged, headcannon of Ancient Rome being Greece's father is used. There are references to England's chapter.<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 3: Greece-Crossdrossing<br>GreeceXJapan**_

Greece dimly remembered the days of his mother's rule; the simplicity, the battle training (Oh _gods_, the battle training), and the philosophy that was never truly matched afterward.

There was one thing he clearly remembered though.

The bold embracing of the naked body.

Yeah. He remembered that well. Especially since he caught his mother _painting_ his father, Ancient Rome, naked once.

She kept subtly ogling him too. It was disturbing beyond comprehension, and was why nude portraits was the one thing he was icky about when it came to nudity and sex.

And not only was Ancient Greece all about embracing the naked body, she was very enthusiastic in embracing the _male_ naked body. Up until the newer research indicating that homosexuality was genetic cropped up, Greece had been pretty sure that was what turned him gay.

Now Greece wasn't hardcore gay. He wasn't Spain or anything, who was 100% homosexual and only thought about guys. Nah, he was...flexible. He preferred men over women, but women did have their charms.

The delicate limbs, the smooth slender skin, the sweet smiling lips and lustrous deliciously scented hair could drive the Grecian wild, in his own lazy inattentive way.

And that was why, all those years ago, when he first set his bored and sleepy green eyes on Japan, he decided that he would have him.

(Turkey had seen the sex driven interest in Heracles forest green eyes, and decided for the poor Asian nation's sake, that he would look after the guy by cockblocking Greece as much as possible. This vow's spirit was boosted when they became buddies and he considered himself to be pretty damn successful until Japan slept with the brat and got over the "It was just a dream!" denial)

Greece had never been so interested in world affairs before he saw Honda Kiku. He looked like a delicate, soft, beautiful woman with his flowing robe dress and sandal clad feet. His feet themselves were small and feminine. Greece remembered wanting to crawl under the table and remove the footwear to suck on his toes and lick his way up the pretty pale and virginal skin. This certain desire has been fulfilled (and continues to this day). Greece could see the subtle and powerful muscles of the petite nation's shoulders, which took nothing away from the gentle girlishness, and longed to kiss and nip at the tensing shoulder blades. He wanted Japan's tiny hands to claw at his back, clutch desperately in his shoulder length hair, and maybe, if he was lucky (he was) to feel the calloused yet tender hands grasp his cock.

(Egypt, Greece's half brother, at this time noticed that Greece actually looked _awake_, and, knowing the only two things that got him that awake were Turkey's pain and sex, wished mercy on the object of Greece's attention. After checking to see if Turkey was in terrible pain, that is.)

Heracles loved the way the Japanese man's hips teasingly swayed side to side, the way his shiny healthy black bob cut brushed his cheeks, how his big rich earth brown eyes stared so dolefully and curiously at European customs.

Decades after laying his sights on the Land of the Rising Sun and successfully dating the man, Greece heard about a certain dirty little obsession of England's from France. Roleplay. Greece personally saw no interest in the subject, but let France continue, since letting France finish whatever the hell he was saying was a great way to the pervert to leave him alone since he would get bored and leave to bother someone else.

"...of course I should've known! England's always been a dirty little thing, ohonhonhon~"

Maybe he could fall asleep with his eyes open. He had heard of people doing that...

"I heard from England, who was typically drunk off his ass, that he's had America dress up as a pirate, a Western bandit, a police officer..."

Huh. Greece dimly began to hope the whole falling asleep standing up with open eyes thing was working since he felt his brain beginning to shut down.

"...a prisoner, figures the former Empire would have _Amérique _do that, a _chemistry _teacher of all things..."

Almost there...

"...a geisha..."

Wait, **_what?_** Greece was awake now.

"A...Geisha...?" Greece asked in his typical slow manner. "...Why?" France shrugged. "England and Japan are friends, _non_? Probably heard from him. And Japan has all that Lolita and things." France leered, a distant and sexually motivated gleam in his eyes.

Greece punched him.

Luckily, this was a pretty normal occurrence between the two, and they easily resumed conversation.

"Geishas...are like...prostitutes...who are...specially trained in the arts...right?"

"So I've heard."

Greece closed his eyes a little longer that normal and a absolutely delectable image of Kiku in a complete Geisha outfit, complete with a decorated fan to hid his bitable blushing face, flashed through his mind.

Wonderful. Adorable, gorgeous, sexy and absolutely wonderful. Greece turned to France, who was surprised by the burning fire in his gaze.

"...Sorry...I...need...to go and..._do_ something..."

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><p><strong>AN:**

**Background Information:**

**Those Spartans: If you've seen the anime (particularly the English dub), Greece offers to give Japan a Spartan style physical. In which Japan would be completely naked and Greece would...**_**examine **_**him. In Ancient Greece only men were allowed to play in the Olympics. And they had to play naked so women couldn't sneak in there. The Ancient Greeks really embraced the male body. Really. You probably know from all the statues in the place.  
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**Homosexuality: Research has shown that homosexuality isn't really nurture in anyway shape or form, but it's the genetics**_**. **_**This has been observed with differences in straight and gay people brain structure (VERY subtle difference. Like, one part of the brain in a gay man's brain is slightly larger than a straight guy's), the fact that a straight couple can raise their child straight and the child will be gay while a gay couple will raise a straight child (although I doubt they would intentionally put a painful effort into raising them gay considering how our society is a real bitch), and strangely enough **_**fingerprints.**_** Yeah. FINGERPRINTS. Look it up, it's weird and rather interesting. It's very rare for a person to be 100% straight or 100% gay, and to be only attracted/think about/fantasize the opposite/same gender. Most people, while they greatly prefer one gender over the other, have the occasional thought or sexual fantasy about someone of the same gender. It's normal, people. That's why straight guys can like yaoi, and straight girls can like yuri.**

**Geisha: to give the shortest and bluntest answer, a special type of Japanese prostitute. However, they are trained in many other arts, and are (well, _were_, at any rate) really for entertainment, not necessarily of sexual nature. It was a very serious and demanding lifestyle, and if you're interested, I would recommend reading Memoirs of a Geisha. Great book. Never saw the movie.**

**Review please!**


	6. Netherlands

**A/N: ...Please don't judge me. I'm perfectly aware that there's a pretty good chance I'm Hell's guest list. Don't worry, I'll bring marshmallows ;D  
>I don't own Hetalia. This chapter is based on the song: Lil' Red Riding Hood by Bowling for Soup. I love that song; I think it fits this couple freakishly well. Himayura once mentioned that the Netherlands had a Lolita fetish. That idea kind of snowballed (probably not in a good way).<br>**

_**Chapter 6: Netherlands:Lolita**_

_**NetherlandsX Liechtenstein**_

Radical. Crazy. (_What the hell is he thinking?)_

Netherlands didn't care about the whispers, he just continued to stare impassively at the nations staring at him in shock and maybe horror as he boldly announced that he had legalized gay marriage and smoked his cigarette. Lather, rinse and repeat .

Homosexual couples could adopt children.

They could be in the military, get divorced, buy homes. Netherlands, in his bland uncaring way, led the unspoken liberation in Europe.

It'd all been an attempt to impress _her_ anyway.

(They called him disgusting. Monster. Freak. Sick in the head.)

He'd always loved that age on women. Still sweet. Still innocent. Before they became jaded and cruel and manipulative. He sadly thinks it may be because of Belgium, his kind little sister who became so hurtful and boastful towards him (and he towards her) as she became a real woman. So he fixated on the time before. Just after childhood (because despite what Europe thought, he did not find children (or who he saw as children) sexual) and right before full blooded womanhood, was every girl at her prime. Emotionally, mentally, physically they were perfect for the most part. That's why he obsessed on _her._

He planned carefully, watched her "grow". Persuaded his country and people to alter the law so sex _between an adult and a young person between the ages of 12 and 16 is permitted by law, as long as the young person consents._ Her age of consent was 14. After careful and intense observing (purposefully planting one of his many pet bunnies in her yard, giving him an excuse to visit and not get shot by her crazy brother wasn't stalking) he determined she was technically 14. Late bloomer. Stuck in that delicious spot of tween years. It was all a matter of persuasion now.

(If anyone actually discovered his dirty little obsession, they would, after much spazzing, point out that sexual relations between people ages 12-16 are allowed with a partner that is roughly _no more_ than three years older than them in his place.

He, of course knew this, but on a regular basis decided to stretch the facts (AKA ignore) this so he didn't feel like a _total _pedophilic stalker)

He loved her childish haircut, cut by her own hand to her jaw, accented with a pretty little girl ribbon. The barely-there swell of her A cup breasts; covered by modest dark pink dresses with lace. Delicate legs (_oh __**God, **__the legs)_ encased in white tights covered by school girl shoes. Thin arms, with soft tiny hands. A cute round face with huge green eyes and bashful blushes covering her cheeks, her lips (kissable and innocent) curved into a shy naïve smile.

Liechtenstein. Lovely little Liechtenstein.

Sometimes, he allowed himself to fantasize and dream (in his own home, _far _away from Switzerland) that the tiny ex-princess could love him, physically, mentally, and in every other way. He imagined that she would feel so breakable in his arms, that she would cling desperately to him as he peppered soft kisses down her neck onto bare shoulders. He thought of her living in his house, waking up next to her in the morning and eating breakfast together after a loving round of lazy morning sex.

She was Little Red Riding Hood, and he was the Big Bad Wolf.

Little Red doesn't end up with the Wolf, though. No, the Big Bad gets killed by the strong burly woodcutter as he attempts to devour sweet sexy Little Red.

Her brother wouldn't let him within 3 meters of her, not that he was suicidal enough to try, with his (deserved) reputation, so he watched her instead. Watched as she flitted about the female nations, trying her best to fit into a world of pure (tainted) adults who diminished her angelic beauty with their scorn and disdain for the world.

Big Brother never left her side. Netherlands wondered if Switzerland ever saw him stare, if he saw Netherlands's gem green eyes never leave Liechtenstein's lithe body as she moved about the room, the same eyes flickering up and down as her form swayed and bobbed with every step.

Did he see the way he licked his lips, like the Big Bad Wolf he was?

Was Netherlands's almost invisible flush on the tips of his ears noticeable to the over protective nation across the room?

Did the Swiss ever secretly watch from the shadows, a overbearing guardian angel, the few times Netherlands got Lichtenstein alone and spoke to her? Told her how pretty her brand new ribbon was and that he liked her presentations? Asked if she wanted to pet or hold the miniature bunny whose head poked sleepily out of his pocket?

(He nearly pounced her then and there when she eagerly accepted and took the bunny from his hands and cuddled it to her chest cooing. After that, erotic fantasies of Lili in an American Playboy bunny outfit were a commonplace.

It was also the first (and depressingly not the last) time he was jealous of a freakin' bunny)

He was trapped, trapped by the perfection that was Liechtenstein. Obsessed and captivated, The Big Bad Wolf lusted and starved himself for Little Red Riding Hood (because no other prey would taste so _good)_ and lingered in the forest as she walked hand in hand with Big Brother Woodcutter.

He left tulips and chocolate in pretty boxes on the dirt path to Grandma's and desperately prayed that she would be drawn off the forest road and step into the darkness and to him.

He may have been a bit biased, but Netherlands thought that the Big Bad deserved a happy ending with Little Red in the darkness of the forest's trees' green and black and brown shadows.

Every other time his ending was blood and death by a Woodcutter, so he deserved to be happy and in love at least one time.

Right?

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><p><strong>AN:**

**http: / / .com / eatonohio / gay / world. htm (get rid of the extra spaces between the /) is the website I got for Netherlands age of consent laws and laws on gay marriage/adoption/etc. Not sure if it's _totally_ acurate. Gay marriage was legalized in 2001 in the Netherlands (the law passed in 2000) and is the first nation to legalize gay marriage federally. Belgium followed in 2003. Liechtenstein has recognized same-sex registered partnerships since 2011.  
><strong>

**Liechtenstein's age of consent is 14. I think it might be her way of passively telling Switzerland to back off, she's ready for the world/relationships. This of course, is head cannon as I support mutual!NetherlandsXLiechtenstein. Like I said, I'm bring marshmallows to Hell.  
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**Please Review (and don't flame based on the couple or kink. Seriously. Don't waste those 5 minutes of your life saying that I suck, thus saving _me _5 minutes of my life from reading about how much I suck) :D**


	7. Norway

**A/N: ...Hi.  
>So, warnings. It gets a little steamy at the end. Nothing much, but there is some faint steam. Also, it's Seme!Norway and Uke!Denmark, which is weird cuz I usually picture it the other way around. Also, the information on Scandinavian folklore is all from Wikipedia. Take warning.<strong>

_**Chapter 7: Norway:Magic/Folklore**_

_**DenmarkXNorway**_

Norway breathed in the scent of the sea. His fairy friend tittered next to him. Norway turned to the little puff-ball creature and cracked a hint of a smile before turning back to the water. He stood on Denmark's shores and was waiting for the man himself. Norway sighed huffily. Stupid Dane. Always late.

Norway hoped the moron would be wearing a tie when he saw him. He could always use a good disciplinary choking, Mathias could.

Norway frowned. This place...felt...off. It almost felt like home, but that couldn't be right. Norway's house had a very distinct feel in the air from all the magic lingering and hiding in his land. The air always felt slightly heavy, like there was something in it that was weighing it down. Norway always felt uncomfortably naked whenever he went anywhere else, because the atmosphere always lacked that feel, except for England and his beloved little brother's house of course.

And oddly enough, America's house was just as horrible as the rest of the world, but not because it lacked the magic in the air, but because there was simply _too much._ It was suffocating there, especially in New York.

Norway knew it was impossible, but the last time he was there, he could've _sworn _that he saw a fucking _Pegasus _galloping over the Manhattan skyline, but that was impossible. He had just arrived by plane, and was probably hallucinating because of jet lag or something.

Anyway.

Norway closed his eyes and simply inhaled. Exhaled. Yes, there was definitely something like home in the air here. Like there was-

"LUUUUUUUKKKKKKKAAAAAAASSSSS!" Violet blue eyes snapped open and the Norwegian growled to himself, hand twitching as if pulling the end of an invisible neck tie. Oh yes, Mathias definitely needed a good choke.

"Mathias." Lukas said as the cheerful Dane bounded up to him happily. "Luuukkkassss~" was Denmark's reply, and the Nordic nation flashed his irritated fellow a sunny too-big smile. His fair hair flopped as he leaned forward, and Lukas inwardly scowled at the Dane's unintentional flaunting of his superior height. Bastard. "Hi!"

…

"Yes, hello." Norway said after a slight pause. "Why did you call me here?"

"To say hi!"

"...

You called me and made me come all the way over here, to say _hi?"_

"Well yeah! I missed you Norge!"

..._You've got to be kidding me._

"So...Norge... did...you-ack! ...miss me?" Denmark cheerfully gasped as Norway strangled him with the tie Denmark was wearing. Norway didn't answer, because then he would have to confess that he actually _did _miss Denmark, and only narrowed his eyes. "No." He lied. Denmark whined. "Noooorrrrgggeeeee! Why?!"

"Because you're annoying." Norway replied, finally releasing the Dane and turned away as the slightly more disgruntled nation fixed his thin black neck wear. He didn't turn back, hoping Denmark wouldn't see the small pleased blush on his face. He couldn't let the moron know he _cared _after all.

"Let's go for a walk Norge!"

Dear God...

His troll laughed at him.

Jackass.

The pair walked along the beach. Well, Norway walked, still pondering the feel of magic in the air and wondering why the hell it was there. Denmark was bounding along, occasionally picking up shells and happily exclaiming over them and collecting them in his jacket which he was using as a makeshift bag. Norway rolled his eyes. Denmark always did that whenever he went to a beach, even when they were just kids and Scandinavia was still looking over them. Norway remembered fondly how his mother used to slap Denmark on the head whenever he did something stupid.

(Scandinavia didn't take shit from no one, not ever her own (adopted) spawn. It was a trait she got from hanging around Germaina too much)

"Norge! Norge! Isn't this one pretty?" Norway stared at the classic shaped shell in Denmark's hands. It was a rough sandy color, but was actually quite smooth. Norway watched Denmark rub it furiously with his hastily unrolled red sleeve till it shone in the gray sunlight. "I suppose."

"Oh good! That means the girls will like it!"

...What?

"What?" Norway said confused, but Denmark was already prancing ahead, his bundle of shells in his arms. Norway followed him, still utterly puzzled when Denmark skipped around a corner and Norway heard his voice call out, "Hi Ladies! Guess who's back?"

Norway's eyebrow twitched when he heard girlish laughter and cheers presumably returning the Dane's greeting.

Norway stormed around the corner, ready to strangled the crap out of Denmark once more before he stopped and stared. Stared some more. Tilted his head to the side in befuddlement, before smacking his cheek a bit to confirm he wasn't dreaming. He wasn't.

"Aren't they pretty, girls?" The ladies gathered around Denmark cooed over the shells in his arms as he laughed boisterously. The youngest looking one picked a small twisted one and giggled, her tail slapping the side of the rock she sat upon.

Mermaids. They were all _mermaids_.

There were five assembled on the rocks, all with golden hair, big expressive eyes, and smooth pale skin.

And huge breasts barely covered by their long wavy locks. Figures.

Norway felt his troll friend, and his puff-ball chum, vanish, leaving him alone with Denmark and five beautiful fish women. Norway hesitated, before squaring his shoulders and, feeling uncharacteristically nervous, walked over to the bunch. "Denmark." Denmark turned a grinned an even larger grin at him, causing Norway to inwardly smirk, mentally telling the gorgeous women to suck it. "Norge! Meet the girls! Girls, this is Norge!" The mermaids tittered at him, some giggling behind their hands, others looking at him suspiciously. Only one actually greeted him; the youngest gave a little wave. Norway nodded back, and the girl blushed prettily. Norway stared at the group stonily and awkwardly as Denmark made loud idle chit-chat with the mermaids, laughing happily as they sprayed him with sea water when the girls teasingly flicked their tails in his directions.

"Tell us stories of your surface magic, _Danmark!"_

"Yes! Tell! Tell!" The rest chanted happily, clapping their hands eagerly, leaning forward and exposing more of their bare chests. Norway resisted the urge to face palm. He hadn't seen mermaids in a while, they had left his shores a long time ago, but he did not remember them being this vapid.

(In reality, the fish women usually acted like regular girls, excluding a few eccentric habits that were Atlantis exclusive. However, while they _were_ the kinder breed of mermaid, they were mischievous beings and could see the unresolved sexual tension and love between the two men, especially on the strange more feminine looking one's part. Screwing with his pretty platinum blond head was _extremely _fun)

Denmark then launched into an old story about the Ellepiger, who were Danish alder tree girls that danced at night and enchanted innocent men into dancing with them, only for said men to never join the living again. As Denmark told the tale in exquisite detail, Norway stood stiffly. This was awkward. Yes, he always berated Denmark on not honoring their roots and folklore, but now that Denmark was, Norway was uncomfortable. Norway was tense. Norway decided firmly that he should, under no circumstances whatsoever, _not _find Denmark talking about mystical and supernatural beings this hot. It was absurd. And yet, here he was, sweating slightly under his collar, wanting nothing more than to drag Denmark back to the car and do..._things_ to him. Things that he remembered sternly lecturing a young Iceland to _never ever (under the penalty of disease and potential pregnancy)_ do.

(Of course, in Norway's modern opinion, it was now just under the penalty of disease because he was pretty sure Iceland was gay for that Hong Kong kid.

(Neither Iceland nor Hong Kong get why everyone automatically assumes they're gay for each other. They just like hanging out and reading and blowing stuff up (Iceland liked it for the fire, Hong Kong just liked loud noises and explosions). They acutely blame Hungary for spreading rumors that they were gay for the most part))

Norway endured this for about ten more minutes before Denmark started educating the young ladies on Scandinavian trolls. Well. Okay then, that was enough.

"Denmark." Denmark turned to Norway with an easy grin, totally oblivious on how much he was turning his fellow Nordic on. "Yeah?"

"Say goodbye to your...friends," Norway said curtly, "We're leaving now." Denmark blinked. "Eh? Why-?"

"WE'RE. LEAVING. _**NOW.**_" Denmark gulped slightly. "O-okay, Norge." He managed with a slight squeak, utterly baffled at the sudden change in behavior (and kinda turned on by the sudden authority in Norway's voice). "Uh, bye-" He said feebly, giving a tiny wave to the snickering mermaids, before being dragged off and feeling like he was seriously missing something. Norway dragged the confused, and now also turned on, Dane along the shore to the rental car Norway had (Denmark used his bike to get to the beach). Norway clicked the door open with the little remote attached to the key chain as he approached the standard silver vehicle, strode up to the backseat car door, and shoved the poor, puzzled and now seriously aroused nation into the car. Denmark landed with a slight grunt, his back pressed against the leather seats that stank of overused sterile cleaning products. His nose wrinkled (in a way that Norway found _ridiculously_ adorable, not that'd he'd ever say it) at the rental car smell before his eyes widened comically and a bright blush spread across his face as Norway promptly climbed in after him.

"N-Norge?" Norway closed the door behind him, and locked the car. "Wh-What are you- ahhhh" The question cut off with a loud moan as Norway climbed over him and straddled his hips and placed his pale hands on both side of Denmark's head, pinning him in place. Norway took a moment to admire how the Dane's fair hair and complexion stood stark against the black seat and how the blood-red shirt that hung loosely off his muscular frame gave the cutely confused man an edge of sex. "Listen carefully, _Danmark_," Norway murmured against his throat, smirking as he felt said throat swallow heavily, "You are going to keep talking about trolls-"

"Huh?"

"And we are going to have hot car sex that will have you limping for the next day or so. Understood?"

The Norwegian got a small whimper in reply. Said Norwegian let a gleam of satisfaction shine in his normally dull eyes and tugged Denmark forward in a bruising kiss with the Danish man's tie. Another desperate whimper, accompanied by large hands tangling in fair hair.

"Now, you were saying?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There it is.  
>Scandinavia would be a caring mother, but not doting. All about the tough love, can't raise Vikings with doting.<br>Iceland and Hong Kong in my headcannon are bros, but everyone around them thinks they're gay for each other because they don't have a lot of other friends so they hang out together to the point where they have guest rooms prepared in their houses. They're the Isolated Island bros (Hong Kong is no longer just an island, but you get the point).  
>Oh, and Danmark is Denmark in DanishNorweigan. And if I'm gonna do something about Denmark and folklore it's gonna be mermaids. I mean, come on, how could I not do mermaids? Denmark is where The Little Mermaid comes from!  
><strong>

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